


Without Exception

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Blood Curse, Developing Friendships, F/F, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Pansy discovers what happened to Hermione Granger during the war.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 110
Collections: Let the New Year Slither In





	Without Exception

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for Draco's Den as part of the Slither In Fest. The admin pulled a character and prompt from a hat. My character was Pansy Parkinson and my prompt was "What does always mean to you?"

There was nothing cosmetics couldn’t cover. A blemish, frown lines, desperate and failed attempts to stave off nightmares the night before, or a long and silvery scar that ran from temple to nostril. They all disappeared under an expert application of creams and contouring. Add a spark of magic, and no one would know Pansy had dark circles lining her eyes and a cursed scar that refused to heal.

No one, it seemed, except for Hermione Granger.

Too blasted clever, the princess of Gryffindor and sidekick to the Savior of the Wizarding World. She could see through Pansy’s camouflage easily. What was worse, though, was Granger pretended not to know anything at all.

They sat one table apart in the library on New Year’s Eve. Pansy pretended to be reading while Granger’s nose pressed so close to the book she was reading, Pansy was sure she’d dribble her goodie-two-shoes snot all over its precious pages. She looked unscathed, as if she hadn’t come out of the war with her own scars. As Pansy’s eyes drifted to Granger’s forearm, she bit into her plump, plum colored lip and wondered if it were true what they said: Hermione Granger had been blood cursed.

Pansy knew a thing or two about that, having watched the Greengrass girls wonder for years which of them would be the host of their bloodline’s vile malediction. If she wanted, she could offer some comfort to Granger —  _ you may be cursed _ , Pansy thought in the swotty Gryffindor’s direction,  _ but at least you’ll live a full life _ . Poor Astoria was only seventeen years old and she was already more than halfway through her short life. She huffed, annoyed that Granger would live and Astoria would die. It wasn’t bloody fair.

But that was life, wasn’t it? Cruel and unfair.

“Do you have a problem, Parkinson?” The tetchy tone slipped through Granger’s lips as her eyes snapped up to meet Pansy’s narrowed stare.

Acting as if she hadn’t been caught ogling, Pansy rolled her eyes. “Aside from the fact I’m forced to breathe the same air as you?”

“Right,” Granger said with a short, breathy laugh. “I’ll fix that for you, shall I?”

With a tap of her wand and a swoosh of her long, wool skirt, Granger left the library in record time without so much as a glance back. Pansy remembered a Hermione Granger who used to fight back, whose feathers would ruffle and whose eyes would spark with magic whenever someone dared to challenge her. This Hermione Granger, though? She was broken — choosing to run off rather than stand her ground and fight.

It irked Pansy something fierce; she’d hoped for a little verbal sparring, to keep her mind occupied on something other than everything that had gone heinously wrong since the war. Granger was a sure-fire way to solve the issue… until she ran away. So, Pansy chased after her. Didn’t think about it, didn’t try and talk herself out of it, just jumped from her table leaving all her books and parchment behind, and chased Granger through the corridors as she slipped around Christmas trees and decorated suits of armor.

The ghosts in the castle were singing _Auld Lang Syne_ , but Pansy paid them no attention as she burst through their cold, translucent bodies, and finally caught up to Granger. She wasn’t unfit, but still found herself breathless as she matched step with Granger who was refusing to acknowledge her.

“Granger.”

She lifted her nose higher in the air and actually made a harrumph noise in the back of her throat. Swotty little bint. Pansy huffed and maneuvered herself in front of Granger and forced her to stop walking.

“Is it true you’re blood cursed?” Pansy’s eyes dipped to the covered scar on Granger’s arm and then she raised her eyes just in time to see a flash of insecurity shine back at her.

“I’m not talking about this with you.”

“I’m the witch you  _ should  _ talk to about this, Granger,” Pansy said, grabbing onto her arm and forcing her into the closest shadowed alcove. “Blood curses run in my circle.”

Granger tried to sidestep her, but Pansy blocked her path every time until the frizzy brunette threw her hands down to her sides and gave up. “Why are you doing this, Parkinson? Haven’t you done enough?”

Pansy swallowed, flicking her eyes just over Granger’s shoulder because she couldn’t take the intensity glaring back at her. “You’re not you,” she said, shrugging. “You ran away rather than fight.”

“That’s certainly something you know well.” Granger crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall. “You always choose the path of least resistance, don’t you?”

“Not all of us had the fucking savior of the wizarding world as a best friend.” Pansy glared at her Gryffindor adversary; the annoyance at her superior tone had a delicious, familiar sting to it. “Some of us had to entertain the Dark Lord in our homes and smile when he cursed us with Crucio.”

She thought she caught Granger flinch, but as quick as it was there, it was gone and replaced with that snooty, perfect posture. “Bellatrix Lestrange removed my ability to fall in love,” she said in such a low voice Pansy nearly missed it. “I didn’t even realize it was missing — not until I couldn’t…”

“That’s your curse?” Pansy raised a thin brow, her lips quirked. “Sweet Circe, what I wouldn’t give to be relieved of the burden of love.”

“You’re joking.” Disbelief shone from her brown eyes as she flung her arms out and her jaw hung open.

Pansy rested her back against the opposite wall and planted her hands flat against the cool stone surface. Her smile grew. “Not at all, actually. Love makes us do incredibly stupid things, always.”

“Always?” It was Granger’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “I don’t think I understand. What does  _ always _ mean to you, Parkinson?”

She thought of the word, what it meant to love, and remembered the many, many times she thought she’d felt it before. For her parents, for Draco, for Astoria Greengrass. Love always made her mad, encouraged her to do ridiculous things like declare it and simper and obsess and shove pieces of herself away so that no one would see them. Love was a mess for her; she’d be happier without it.

“Without exception,” she said finally, lifting her chin just so. “There isn’t a tale told that doesn’t involve some sap falling in love and doing incredibly stupid things. And you’re not stupid, are you Granger?”

A smile played on the corners of Granger’s lips. She shook her head of wild curls and lifted her chin to match Pansy’s. “No, not always.”

Becoming friends with Granger happened slowly, with many meetings in the same alcove after a night of reading in the library. Sometimes they simply sat in silence, and every once in awhile she’d coerce Granger into helping with exam prep. But mostly, they curled up beside one another in the shadows and tried to make sense of their particular curses.

Hermione Granger would never feel love due to her blood curse. And Pansy Parkinson would do incredibly stupid things to try and fix it.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun exploring this prompt for Pansy's character, and while this doesn't delve into the romance I picture for them down the road (damn word limits (I love you admins!!!)), I like to think that they get there eventually, however that looks for them.


End file.
